


this is the card we've been dealt

by dracopotter



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, SO, for amaal pretty much, idek, this happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 04:37:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracopotter/pseuds/dracopotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is in London when he gets the call. There has been a terrible, terrible accident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this is the card we've been dealt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amaal](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=amaal).



Louis is in London when he gets the call. _There's been a terrible, terrible accident_ , they say, but all he can hear is the hiss of the kettle in the kitchen where he's been making tea for two.

/

_before_

He starts to keep track of his thoughts on paper around the time they start to get really famous.

It began with simple journal entries- _Today is January 24th, and we filmed our new music video,_ \- but he found that he actually really enjoys writing these things down, it keeps him calm, even.

It develops into a list of lists, too. A safe haven in the shape of a sleek black notebook, a refuge for some of the thoughts Louis knows he can't say in public. He spends a lot of time writing in it, and his entries are different every day. On a day when he's feeling quite upbeat, he'll write a list called "Cutest YouTube Kitten Videos of All Time," and he'll embellish the page with hand-drown smiley faces and scribbles of what he intends to be a cat that Louis is not too proud of but Harry grins widely at. On a day when he's feeling a bit more morose, he'll make a list called "Reasons People Suck," and when he's done, there will be holes in the page from where he's pressed ink to paper too hard.

Louis has this one list he's particularly proud of. It's the only one he hasn't changed, hasn't attempted to improve. It's called "Things I Care About." This is also the shortest of Louis' lists. There is only one thing on it, and you could probably guess what it is; then again, maybe you can't.

/

_before_

"Harry Styles, you absolute wanker," Louis looks at him with amusement as he tilts his head to the side. Louis' right cheek is smeared in flour, coated with the sticky white substance Harry suddenly decided to cover his face in. "You're a demon! I can't even try to bake with you!"

Harry grins at him, a curl falling into his eyes as he backs up toward the sink, holding his hands up in the universal Peace! gesture. "It's December," he complained loudly. "You're too tan."

"Just trying to help me out then, with my horrible skin condition? Too bad the biggest bag of flour in the world couldn't help your curls."

Harry stops backing up immediately and pouts mockingly. "Too far," he shook his head, turning around to face the sink. "Way too far."

Louis surveys the X Factor kitchen, locating the bag of flour almost immediately. He grabs it in both hands, creeping towards Harry as quietly as possible. He grins in triumph as he comes up behind Harry and dumps the bag of flour down his shirt. "Payback's a bitch, mate," Louis yells in his ear fondly as Harry lets out a yelp that Louis isn't likely to let him forget.

It should be a testament to Louis' intelligence that he started to run immediately, not even turning around to see Harry try and remove the bag of flour from his shirt as he runs up the steps.

Harry finds him eventually, though, and tomorrow they hear the kitchen staff complaining about the huge trail of flour leading all the way to Louis' room ("I don't see how this is incriminating evidence," Louis protests), but they are quite content to tune it out.

(This is the first day they meet.)

/

_before_

The members of One Direction are eating lunch when Niall decides to fill the silence with, "Do you guys want to go skydiving?"

There's silence for quite a few seconds, and Louis isn't sure if it's at the sheer absurdity of Niall's suggestion or the fact that he is occupying himself with something other than devising horribly thought out plans to steal their food.

"I think I'm good," Liam says skeptically, eying Niall as if he's trying to create some huge diversion to take his bologna-and-ham sandwich.

"But it would be fun," Niall protests. "Maybe we could even do that thing where we land in the water?"

"What thing when you land in the water? The thing where you die?" Zayn pipes in, and stops picking at his food as if to say _I can't eat and lose brain cells at the same time_. He leans back in his chair and raises an eyebrow.

"Nah, you wouldn't die. I'm not too sure about how the water thing works, really"- Liam and Zayn shake their head simultaneously- "but Harry and Lou, you'll do it with me, yeah?"

Louis shrugs noncommittally, but Niall's face lights up and he doesn't even wait to finish chewing before exclaiming with pure glee, "I knew you would do it with me! I knew you were the fun one!"

Harry's eyes widen in horror as he looks back and forth from Louis to Niall. "That was not a yes," he says carefully, before turning to look at Louis. "That wasn't a yes, right?"

Louis looks like he's about to shrug again, so Harry cuts in with, "No skydiving. At all."

"Louis is 21, though," Zayn smirks while looking at Liam, as if they're having some huge laugh over this conversation that no one else is privy to. "He is legally an adult. He can do whatever he wants. And if he and Ni want to go skydiving, we could probably have a bit of fun watching. Get someone to video it for us or summat."

"No one is skydiving. Ever. No."

"But Harry," Louis says with an all-too-familiar smirk, "I'm the _fun one_."

"Why not?" Niall pouts at Harry, his lips twisting into a poor imitation of a puppy that only Liam can seem to ever pull off.

"It's too dangerous!"

"Life is dangerous," Zayn rolls his eyes. "We're popstars. We walk on the streets, it's dangerous, there could be a mob or something and we could get trampled." Liam snickers at that.

"No. This is seriously dangerous. One of you could actually die, so. No."

"He's kind of right," Liam nods. "If something happened, we all would regret it forever. If there was even the slightest accident… I don't know what I'd do if any of you got hurt."

"Aw, Liam, you poor thing," Louis coos sarcastically, reaching over to pet Liam on the head but Zayn smacks his hand away with a chuckle.

"I could live without you guys, but it wouldn't be much of an existence then, I don't think," Harry says seriously, his eyes downcast and his brow slightly furrowed.

There's a few seconds to absorb what he meant, then: " _Our Harriet's finally got her period!_ "

Harry fake-huffs in indignation as Louis tackles him, and the boys laugh before joining in the group tackle a minute later, and it's happy and perfect and so them that no one could question the craziness of it.

(Harry really wasn't kidding about the no-skydiving rule, though, because once he hears Niall joking about how _We're heading to Australia in two weeks!_ and _The best skydiving has got to be in Australia, I'm sure of it_ he doesn't let Louis out of his sight in the sunny country. When they have free time, Harry uses certain methods, which may or may not have been slightly disturbing to the blokes with hotel rooms near theirs, to ensure that Louis stays in the bedroom. Louis is never sure if this was a coincidence or Harry had something majorly against skydiving, but he definitely wasn't complaining, so.)

/

_before_

Their relationship goes like this- it's a fairytale, at first. Louis imagines it's as close to love at first sight as there can be.

(Louis is entering one of the bathrooms in the X Factor house as Harry is leaving it. They almost collide. "Oops," he says. "Hi," says the gravelly voice, which belongs to the most beautiful boy he's ever seen. He likes to think he knew right then and there that this boy, with the dimples and curly hair, would ruin him someday.)

Then they are put together in this band called One Direction, and that's when he really starts to fall madly, head-over-heels in love.

After the X Factor, One Direction starts to gain more and more attention in England. It's always been an unspoken rule that Louis and Harry wouldn't be openly in a relationship to the media. They were happy with this; they could still touch and tease and make heart eyes as much as they wanted. They understood that 99.9% of their fan base were teenage girls likely to be devastated if their hopes of marrying 2/5 of One Direction were crushed.

But when they start to gain more and more fans, management decides the unspoken rule is no more. Management buckles down on them as the media gears up to plummet One Direction to fame. Louis thinks of that as the moment that he realized you can't have it all. The world will not let you be happy for an infinite amount of time. There is an expiration date on everything.

Life as a celebrity is lived in the lime light. There is no privacy. The media is always creeping, always waiting for the next story to fuel their greed and they do not care who their story will hurt. The media simply doesn't care if you lose everything because of a photograph they took or an article they wrote.

Management tells them not to touch. They comply. Management tells them to "stop looking at each other as if you're the only ones in the room!" They comply. Management tells them not to sit next to each other at signings. They comply, and they comply, and they comply, because they don't have a choice.

Louis supposes that one thing management never understood was that you can only stretch a rubber band for so long before it snaps.

/

_before_

Harry is his anchor to this cruel, cruel world and there are nights Louis resents him for that. Harry ties him to this world, keeps him from running away from it all. Harry pins him down to a harsh reality that Louis sometimes is absolutely desperate to escape from. Louis loves Harry too much to leave. Louis sometimes wishes he didn't.

(Louis wishes he could grab his former-self's shoulders and tell him to be careful what he wishes for, and to not let Harry travel alone ever, and all of that.)

/

_before_

It's the night they perform at Madison Square Garden. They're finished performing all of their pre-show rituals, and they're all getting ready to go on stage and trying not to hyperventilate. Their handler gives them the _Go!_ sign and Liam, Zayn, and Niall head onto the stage, flanked by Harry. Louis walks a few paces behind all of them, trying to collect his thoughts, but Harry turns to him before they go on stage and reaches for his hand, "You coming?"

"Of course," Louis nods, warm against Harry's reassuring touch. "I'll follow you anywhere." He says it with a wink and a cheesy grin as they walk out onto the stage, letting go of each other's hands at the last possible second.

(He thinks now that when he said this, he wasn't entirely prepared for Harry to take him up on it.)

/

_before_

It's New Years Eve, and Louis is really, really drunk, and Harry being in another country snogging Taylor Swift may or may not have radically increased his alcohol intake.

Eleanor is perched lovingly on his arm because this is his New Year's Eve party, but it's also a publicity stunt, a distraction. Louis was hardly selective with the guest list, and so not everyone here knows that Eleanor is a beard and him and Harry are in love. So, he's forced to listen to tons of social niceties that include, "You guys are so cute together!" as guests he barely even recognize stumble through the door.

The alcohol is practically limitless, and so Louis tries to combat the bile constantly rising in his throat with shots of vodka that slip down his throat, leaving a bitter aftertaste. _All the better to kiss Eleanor with_ , he thinks.

It's not that he hates Eleanor, really. It's just that he resents the implications of her presence; the notion that Harry and Louis are something to be ashamed of. He has an acquired distaste for her that's come from years of kissing her sloppy, wet mouth with lips too pale and not plump enough. She's a sweet girl, but she lies to the cameras for money, while Louis does it for love, and he can't help but feel a disdain towards her intentions.

He is reminded occasionally, though, that Eleanor is also a shield, and there are days he feels the need to thank her for that, for all the hate she's prevented, but then he remembers that she isn't doing this for them. The best thing about Eleanor, Louis thinks, is that she knows when to keep her mouth shut.

So she doesn't cling to Louis' side for the entire evening, instead opting to go socialize with a few of her friends from Manchester who've been kind enough to attend, and he's left with Stan and a few of the others Louis is actually close with.

He tries not to think about where Harry is right now, what he's doing, who he's with, but it's impossible when he's having a huge party in their flat and the only thing missing is him. It's crazy to not look at the curtains they picked out together and think, _Harry was right. This color complements the couch perfectly_ , or look at their kitchen, still in disarray from when Harry baked brownies the other day and think, _Those brownies were the best things I've ever tasted_.

He knows he has absolutely no right to be mad with Harry, not when he's kissed Eleanor a thousand times before, so he just makes up for the numbness in his gut the same way he has since his high school days; by being the life of the party, jumping from one crowd to another, coaxing laugh after laugh from unsuspecting guests who don't know Louis well enough to predict his mood swings. Stan and a few others see right through him, though, can tell he's cracking under his façade of _perfect host_ and _funny guy_ , and they wave him over to their group a few minutes before midnight.

"You've had a bit much to drink, mate," Stan yells at him over the noise of the music. "Maybe you should sit down, yeah?"

Louis looks at the huge digital screen that had been rented in his living room for countdown purposes. 11:55.

"Alright," he says, wobbling a bit towards Stan to embrace him drunkenly. "I'll be back."

He makes his way towards his bedroom and opens the door slowly, praying to God that there isn't anyone in there. It's empty, thankfully, and he proceeds to sit on the bed and pulls his phone out of his pocket.

From Harry: She just performed… If you were here you would've laughed. She croaked!

Louis lets out a strangled laugh at his phone, staring at it for a minute, knowing the slight was stated purposely for his benefit, because Harry is a really nice person, but even he's not above insulting some beard to make his boyfriend feel a little better.

11:56. He thumbs over Harry in his contacts, wanting to hear his voice one last time before they have to kiss girls they don't like and smile at people they don't know.

The call doesn't go through. He knows the lines are busy because it's New Years and everyone is trying to call a loved one, but he can't help be irrationally angry.

He walks back out into the party, pissed off because Harry isn't here and all he wanted to fucking do was call his boyfriend one last time in 2012, but the universe wouldn't even let him have that.

11:57. He rejoins Stan, downs another shot of vodka, and is silent as his friends scream about how excited they are for the new year.

11:58. He waits for Eleanor to come find him. He knows she will- it's in her job description after all, in bold print that reads  _Drink Starbucks like some crazy crack-house caffeine addict_ and under it _Make sure I kiss my fake boyfriend at parties when people are watching_.

11:59. Eleanor comes to stand next to him.

12:00. Their lips meet. The taste is horrible. Louis hates every single millisecond of it.

They are only a few seconds into what probably would have turned into a 10-second long kiss when Stan pulls Eleanor off of Louis, yells jokingly "I need to kiss my best mate a happy new year," and Louis is swept away with the reoccurring realization of _Stan is amazing_ that he gets every once in a while when he does something particularly great.

Stan kisses him sloppily on the cheek, grins at Louis, and says just loud enough for him to hear, "Now it's time to get shit-faced!"

Louis does not think he's ever loved Stan so much in his life. He complies easily, successfully ignores Eleanor for the rest of the night, and feels a weight lifted off his shoulders with every shot he pours down his throat.

/

When he asked Harry for his autograph the day he met him ("You're going to be incredibly famous, mate, I can tell") he hadn't just been flirting.

Harry possessed this unmistakable quality of an otherworldly greatness, as if destiny had chosen to mark him with pink lips and curly hair and green eyes. The boy practically reeked of it, of this greatness he couldn't quite name, and after a while Louis got used to the smell, but he could never get quite familiar with it.

So when Louis first met Harry, he knew right away that this boy was special, could tell from years of watching stars perform on stage and trying to be like them. He likes to think that he knew right away that this boy would ruin him, too; that he took one look at his perfectly pink pout and sparkling eyes and thought, this boy is trouble. (He didn't know just how much trouble he was at the time, though, or he probably would have run for the hills.)

It wasn't just Louis who thought this way, however; he saw the slightly awed faces of his future bandmates when they first met Harry. He saw the way that interviewers tended to direct their questions toward Harry almost subconsciously, as if they didn't even know they were doing it. And he certainly saw the way every girl in a six-mile radius' first instinct was, _Where's Harry?_

This is one of the things Louis loves most about Harry, his ridiculous charm, but this is also one of the things he doesn't like about Harry so much.

If Harry weren't so distinctly _Harry_ , so bright and full of life, they might have made it, might have had a shot at being normal (or, as close to normal a pair of gay musicians can get).

But Harry and his stupid destiny got in the way, but he should have known that was bound to happen at the start, really, should have looked at his eager innocence and knew that nothing so pure could survive for long in this world.

Harry had always been too big, too bright for this world to contain. Louis hopes that wherever he's at now, it has enough space for his huge heart and loud laugh and long legs.

/

_before_

Louis' resolve has been slowly picked apart, fracturing through camera flashes and hands he can't hold and feelings he can't feel and secrets he can't possibly be expected to keep. Louis is just a boy who likes football and getting drunk with his mates and coming home at the end of a long day to his mother. Louis is just a boy from Doncaster, and he's not quite sure how he ended up in this world full of flashing lights and fast cars and fake people.

(He can't even imagine how much worse this must be for Harry, who bares his whole soul to everyone with a blind trust that Louis could never fathom.)

He reckons he's a little lost. He reckons they all are, now.

/

_before_

_This is_ , Louis thinks, _the thirty-ninth time we've had this argument_ , but he isn't exactly counting.

Louis had publicly gone out with Eleanor the day before, had held hands with her and smiled for the cameras and bought her flowers, and he even did the gentlemanly thing and kissed her goodnight in front of the paparazzi.

He had come home to an absolutely miserable Harry. His eyes had been red-rimmed and there were tearstains on his cheeks and Louis couldn't do anything to make it go away. He just hugged Harry as tightly as he could and promised not to let go.

That was yesterday, though, and today the sadness has sharpened into an acute anger.

"They made you do it again," Harry said, pacing around their flat in front of Louis like some freight train desperately trying to let off steam. "They fucking said they had enough for a while. They said it."

Louis sighs and bounces his leg up and down, feeling oddly still. He's bad at this, at feeling useless when Harry needs to blow off steam. Louis is usually the ball of energy. "I know," he settles on lamely.

"I can't just fucking wait here while you prance around with some fake girlfriend, and the next day I go to the fucking grocery store or gas station or something and see pictures of you everywhere and people talking about how you're just the most _perfect_ couple," he said, his voice breaking. "It's too much."

Louis' heart leaps into his throat because he knows how much stress it is but Harry's speaking with such an air of formality and it scares the shit out of him. "What are you saying? I don't want to deal with any of this either. We don't have a fucking choice."

"You always have a choice. "

"No. It isn't fucking like that. If we had a choice, we certainly wouldn't be doing this to ourselves. God, Harry, what are our options? We do what they tell us and we keep our careers-"

"At what cost? At the cost of our relationship?"

"I didn't fucking say that," Louis said, his mouth set in a hard line. "I wouldn't let that happen."

"That's what's fucking happening, though, isn't it? We have this same fight once a week and nothing ever changes. They're trying to tear us apart."

"Then we don't let them win."

"Yeah, but we still lose! So what's our other option, then? We come out and we kiss in public and we get a few hateful comments? We could have it all."

"You have to stop looking at only the best-case scenarios."

Harry lets out a frustrated sigh and walks toward their bedroom, turning to Louis and telling him firmly, "Stay here," and normally Louis would follow him just to be a prick but these aren't exactly normal circumstances. He takes the moments alone to try and calm down, to take deep breaths.

Harry emerges from the bedroom with a slightly less angry-looking face and a laptop in his hands, and Louis is not sure what he was expecting, but that certainly wasn't it.

"Look," he whispers, his hands easily covering half of the keyboard as he places the laptop on Louis' lap. "It doesn't have to be like this."

It's a page on Tumblr with the title _Reasons I Will Always Support Larry Stylinson_ flickering across the top of the screen. Louis has always known pages like these exist, has mentioned them in passing, even. He'd never let himself bask in the self-indulgence actually reading one would bring, though, and so he's surprised by the effort that must have been put into making this page, the hours finding the right pictures and typing perfectly eloquent paragraphs must have taken. He exhales softly as he scrolls through the page, pausing at headers that read things like _Their bravery_ and _How they stick together through everything_ and he doesn't know how he feels about this, about being laid bare before some random teenager. They've probably trained their eyes to watch his every movement in interviews, to take note of the way his eyes linger on the ground a minute too long when Eleanor is mentioned. He's always known that this exists, but he's never really thought about it. It's impossibly strange to think that there are people out there who know more about yourself than you do.

He feels Harry's gaze on him as he finishes reading the page and sits back on the sofa with his gaze cast on the floor. "How did you even find this?"

"It's not hard," Harry says, turning to face him, his pink lips parted. "There's a lot of it out there. They know, Lou, a whole lot of them, and they are literally waiting for us to come out like it's the second coming of Jesus or something."

Harry's hand wraps around Louis' tightly like he has an answer. Louis isn't sure of the question. "We're letting it tear us apart," he says, ignoring the way Louis shakes his head in a vehement denial. "I just. Lou, you've got to think about it, okay? Please? Just think about it. I can't go on like this forever. We're going to have to come clean sometime."

"Is this an ultimatum?"

Louis' eyes remain on the floor, and if Harry didn't know him so well he'd think that he wasn't paying attention. Harry's gaze rests on Louis a moment too long. "That's not what I'd call it. Look, Lou, I'm going to bed and you can think and we can talk about it in the morning, okay?" He leans over to kiss Louis properly after they exchange _I love yous_ that sound all too pleading, and pads off to their bedroom, and Louis just sits, unmoving, for some time.

He thinks that it comes down to what he has and what he could gain and what he could lose.

He has this burning love for Harry that he swears is eating him alive sometimes, turning his flesh over from the inside out with it's intensity, and he knows that he cannot lose that.

He's been so unfair to Harry, really, because the younger boy had been okay with coming out since day one. It'd always been Louis to look him in the eye and say, _No we're not ready yet_ , or _No, the world's not ready yet_ , or _No, I'm not ready yet_. He's tired of being selfish and stupid and taking his boyfriend for granted. (Harry deserves the world, is the thing, and Louis would be damned if he didn't do his best to serve it to him on a silver platter.)

He has his boyfriend's love to earn, even though he'd already earned it a thousand times over, and he has a few fans to lose, and he thinks maybe he's starting to feeling something towards marginally okay with that.

There are a few million pounds and a few thousand fans to lose and a few new insults and whole bunch of new enemies to gain. And there's his sanity and a few secrets to lose, but there is a freedom to be gained.

When he looks at it that way, when he carefully places the benefits of each possible course of action side by side, it's not hard to make a choice.

He chooses the boy with the bright green eyes and the curly hair, just as he always has, just as he always will, whether it be in this life or the next. The choice is the culmination of weeks of arguing and months of frustration and years of love; but there wasn't really even a choice to begin with, so. It will always be Harry.

He knows his decision deep in his gut before he tries to sleep that night, and he tries to take some comfort in the tall boy sleeping beside him, their limbs splayed against each other like splattered paint on a canvas, and he takes what he can.

Harry will always be his strength, he thinks. He can't lose that over some paparazzi and a few fans who haven't felt the extreme pleasure of a dick up their arse.

And when he realizes he's come to a decision, he thinks the nervousness in his chest feels like the weight of the world being lifted off of his shoulders and being replaced with a whole different universe, but it's not entirely unpleasant.

/

_before_

When they wake the next day, Louis doesn't mention it at first. He's always believed that touchy subjects have a time and place (preferably never) and definitely not early in the morning.

They make tea and eat toast and watch silly cartoons on the couch, hands and limbs entwined, and it's perfectly normal and casual but there is an undercurrent of tension, a certain spark of _unresolved_ in the air that Louis can't help but be tired of dodging by dinnertime.

Harry is just sitting down at their kitchen table, chicken sandwich in hand, when Louis has the epiphany of enough is enough and makes a noise that is half a cough and half clearing his throat. Harry raises an eyebrow at him amusedly, but Louis can see the tension in his jaw line.

"I've been thinking about what we were talking about yesterday," Louis starts blandly, reaching across Harry's lap for a napkin. "You know, like you wanted me to do."

"No, hold on," Harry cuts in sharply. "I'm sorry. I was out of line. I know it's not that simple, I just-"

"Don't you apologize, Harry. Don't you dare apologize. I'm the one who needs to apologize. I've been a right prat about this for so long, and I never listened to you the way I should've. It's just you're so damn brave, Harry, and I've let you be brave enough for both of us, but I think it's time for me to be brave, too."

Harry's mouth drops open a bit, and Louis shakes his head. "Don't say anything, okay? Just let me do this."

"You are the most amazing person I've ever met and I ever will meet, and I am so fucking in love with you that sometimes I forget that other people exist. I forget that there are girls who watch our every move and analyze our every touch because it's just us. I forget that there are girls who are paid to uphold our image and that there are paparazzi that make a living off of our mistakes. When it's just you and me, I'm so horrible at seeing the bigger picture because I try to block it out, because that's what I've always done. I try to ignore what scares me, and for the longest time you've been talking about coming out and I've done my best to ignore it because it really scares me. I'm afraid for you and me and Liam and Zayn and Niall and our careers and our mothers and our sisters and our second cousins-twice removed. I'm fucking petrified but there's nothing scary enough in the world to make me not want to be with you. I will literally face every fear I've ever had if it gets you to sleep a little easier at night, because you mean that much to me. You deserve the world, and I'll be damned if I don't try my hardest to serve it to you on a gold platter."

Harry's mouth stays open for a few seconds, his mind having completely forgotten about the food on his plate that had already grown cold. Louis smiles softly at him. "What I'm saying is, I'm in. I want to do this, and I know you want to do this, and this is probably something we've needed to do for a long time. We can-" and Louis makes air quotes because it's such a cliché "come out or whatever whenever you want. I'm sorry it took me this long to be ready, but I am now. So. Yeah."

Harry looks at Louis then, his eyes dark and intense, burning with a passion and a love that Louis will never quite get used to (or will never get the chance to get completely used to). It's a look Louis has seen plenty of times, but each time he manages to be captivated by it's quiet power.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Harry shakes his head, smiling a small smile that makes Louis' stomach flip in ways he'd rather not admit. "God, you're so amazing. I love you so much. I just, are you sure? Because last night I was way too pushy and I didn't mean to pressure you."

"No. Stop. This is happening."

Harry laughs at Louis' insistent tone. "I've been waiting for this for a long time."

"I know."

"When do you want to do it? I mean, we can wait as long as you'd like."

"No. Enough waiting. Let's do it soon. Like, during the tour."

Harry's eyebrow raises, an impressed smirk on his face. "Don't you think you're moving a bit fast there?" He says, only half joking.

"No, not unless you think so," Louis says uncertainly. "I just want to get it over with as soon as possible, to be honest."

"Ok. We can do that, then."

"Ok," Louis laughs. "We're pretty bad at this, aren't we? I don't even know what to do."

"I guess we start by telling everyone? And we do that, and then we take it from there, and we can decide how we're going to do it and all that."

"Funny, innit, how we've been fighting about this and now that we agree we're almost as lost as ever?"

Harry laughs. "Yeah, I guess."

"So, I guess I'll call Mum?"

"Do you think maybe this is one of those you-have-to-do-it-in-person things?"

Louis squints. "I thought that was for when someone died."

"I guess," Harry shrugs noncommittally. "But I think maybe a _hey! We're stepping out of the proverbial closet_ phone call is not our style. Much too cliché."

"Oh Harry!" Louis laments dramatically. "We're a walking cliché, baby."

Harry rolls his eyes fondly and reaches over to kiss Louis, their lips melting together perfectly before Louis pulls away after a natural pause, stating seriously, "If we're going to tell them in person, we'd have to do it tomorrow. We leave for the tour tomorrow, and we won't be back for forever. It's tomorrow or never."

"Yeah, but there's no way we'll have time to visit both of our families in one day."

Louis frowns, the corners of his mouth pulling down in a way that always looked out of place on Louis' usually beaming face. "I guess we'd have to split up, then. I'd go to Doncaster for a few hours and you'd go to Cheshire, and we'd both be back in time to finish packing for the tour and leave."

"I would've liked to tell them with you there, but this will have to work I guess. Your mum is going to be absolutely overjoyed when you tell her."

"So is yours." Louis grins, picturing the sheer expression of happiness on Anne's face that would undoubtedly be present when Harry told her of their decision.

"So that's it, then? I'll leave early tomorrow, get there in time for lunch, and be back at night, and you'll do the same."

"Alright," Louis shrugs. "And I'll leave as soon as I've gotten enough beauty sleep. We're really doing this!"

Harry bites down on his lip. "I think we may be kind of crazy."

"Oi! Speak for yourself. You're lucky if I'll answer the letters you write to me from the nuthouse with that attitude."

Harry tries to roll his eyes, but it's much too fond to be anything but simply endearing. "I love you."

"I love you too."

Louis and Harry kiss and eventually end up not eating any dinner at all, which is quite a shame because the activities they engage in that night require energy (and lots of it). Neither of them gets tired, though, so they lie in their bed for quite a while, content with the companionship they find in each other's silence.

(This is the last perfect memory Louis has. He wants to hold onto it forever, but memories are imperfect and easily susceptible to ruin and he destroys everything he touches.)

/

_before_

Harry leaves early in the morning, when the grass outside is still wet with dew and the air is still cold from last night's chill. Louis is half asleep and isn't cohesive enough to do anything more than give Harry a sloppy kiss and a tired _I love you_ and _see you later_.

Louis has kissed Harry goodbye thousands of times before. There is absolutely no reason for this to be his last time doing so, but fate has never agreed with reason.

This is the last time Louis ever sees Harry, and in his half-awake state he hadn't even managed to take a good look.

/

_before_

After Harry leaves, Louis slowly awakes and leaves for Doncaster.

He spends the drive thinking about coming out, and the bright sun, so rare in England, beams down on him so steadily that he can't help but be optimistic.

If he thinks really, really hard, Louis supposes that there are a few scenarios in which he can imagine certain events unfolding quite nicely.

His favorite one, he thinks, is this: They tell their families that they've decided to come out, and everyone will cry and squeal and probably try to use his sleeve as a tissue. Next they'll tell the boys and close friends, and Niall will grin and Zayn will be proud and Liam will worry but they'll all be elated. Harry will tell Nick and he'll probably throw Harry some hipster coming-out party where Nick hands out cock-shaped cookies as party favors and writes _No Heterosexuals Allowed!_ on the invitations in huge scrawling cursive. Louis will tell Stan, and he can picture the exact look Stan will give him: it will be raw and packed with an emotion between joy and pride so powerful that Louis will give him a little shove, say, "Stop being such a bloody sap, Stan," as he smiles and tries not to tear up.

And then they'll plan to do it at their next live interview. They'll give management no warning. They would only threaten and prohibit and they will still not realize that people are not objects for their money-making desires and cannot be controlled for any infinite amount of time. The interviewer will ask the same question they're asked at every interview: "How many of you are single?" Niall will raise his hand, and there will be a beat of silence before the interviewer gets through their initial confusion. "You're taken, Harry, then?" they'll ask, and Harry will have just enough time to spit out his _Louis and I are in love and are dating happily, always have been_ , before some member of their management team runs in and cuts the interview short. It will be too late, though, and the damage will already be done, and the interview will probably have millions of views on YouTube in less than an hour.

Or they can, he muses, be a bit more direct about it. They could sit in their hotel room one night when they're hyped up on the adrenaline from performing and have a few minutes to themselves, and they'll film their own YouTube video with the grainy webcam on Louis' laptop. They will sit on their bed, shoulders touching lightly, only blushing slightly as they explain, _There's something we've been keeping from you, all of you, and we're very sorry for that_. Harry will do most of the talking, and he'll grab Louis' hand on the bed, where the camera can't see, and will stroke his thumb lightly every time he sees Louis' hand shake. When Harry has finished his rant of _There is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, We're not hiding anything anymore_ , his cheeks will be tinged pink with frustration and Louis will grasp his hand tighter. When Louis has spoken his _Thank you, I hope you continue to support us_ , Harry will turn his head and catch Louis' lips in a gentle kiss before he turns the webcam off. Harry will post the video immediately on one of Gemma's old YouTube accounts and won't let Louis look at it before he does so and Louis will pout but Harry will insist and his eyes will plead _let this be over, already_. Harry and Louis will grab their phones and copy and paste the link to the video to tweet, and they'll hold each other's hand in one hand and their phone in the other and Harry will count down 3, 2, 1, and they will both press _Send Tweet_ at the same time. After that they'll turn their phones off and toss them in their bedside drawer and Harry will tell Louis rather sternly that neither of them can look on their phones or on the computer or watch the news. They'll spend the rest of their day cooped up in their room, watching old reruns of Friends on the television and lying in bed, limbs entangled and hearts beating perfectly in sync. They'll know that people will come for them soon, and that they are living in the calm before the storm, but they won't be able to think about anything but the present, about feeling the warmth of each other's chests pressed against their own. Harry will reach over to kiss Louis lazily, like coming out has put some kind of renewal on their relationship (it hasn't) and they have all the time in the world (they don't). As the night goes on, their kisses will get hungrier and hungrier, driven by some fear of what has passed and what is yet to come, and they will make love on top of the sheets, hiding nothing from the other.

In this scenario, Louis pictures a little backlash because he can be a reasonable person, sometimes. They will lose a few fans. They can spare a few fans. Management will make them do some interviews in gay pride magazines even though Louis only really classifies his sexuality as Harry. A few people will tell them that they will burn in hell for the sins, and it will hurt but it really won't be that different from the people who already tell them to die and that they aren't deserving of any of their success. They can deal with it. The fan support will surprise Louis and Harry and it will turn out that more people believed in "Larry Stylinson" than they ever thought possible. After a few weeks, all the media coverage will die down for the most part and life will be normal, except for now Louis is able to kiss Harry in public the way he's always wanted to. Nothing will change, really, they'll just be a little more free.

(Louis likes imagining scenarios like this. He does not immediately realize that it is called imagination for a reason. Naïve hearts, Louis will realize, have always been too gullible for their own good.)

/

_after_

The phone is on the floor. The tea kettle starts to scream.

When Louis is brought back to reality, he reaches for the teapot, but his hands shake and he drops the kettle, shards of glass falling and scalding water spilling over onto his arm. He moves his lips to yell, "Fuck!" but no sound comes out.

It's Liam who finds him on the floor an hour later.

/

_after_

He won't believe it, he won't believe it until he sees a body, so. Harry's fucking alive. He's fucking alive, okay, and all of the paparazzi and his family and friends need to stop worrying because he's fine and Harry's alive and everything is the same as it was yesterday.

(The stages of grief don't come in sequences, they come in waves that shake his body with sobs and poison his mind with a feeling that there is no word in any language for.)

/

_after_

Crumpled pieces of paper falling into a trash can, ripped to shreds, pages upon pages of an old black journal ripped out, spread all over the mahogany floor; this is not what you would expect to see in a popstar's bedroom.

Louis sits on the ground, back hunched over in the most uncomfortable of positions, his hair greasy and knotted and his facial expression slightly manic. There's a pen in his hand, moving rapidly across paper as he crosses things out furiously.

There's only one page he doesn't mark, and maybe you can guess what it is, but maybe not.

/

_after_

There's some big fancy funeral with some star singing in Harry's honor and some celebrity telling everyone how amazing he was when they've only met once and some suit-wearing executives frowning over what this means for their wallet as they help themselves to the complementary drinks.

Louis doesn't go, opts to stay home and watch reruns of a show he and Harry love and thinks, _I know you're still out there. I won't give up on you like they all have. It has always come down to just you and me._

/

_after_

It's memories like these that tear Louis apart: Harry singing to him, loud and boisterously over the radio in the car, _you are my sunshine my only sunshine you make me happy when skies are gray_ , more than a little bit lovesick.

Nothing is right, anymore.

He stares at the television until he can bear it no longer and shuts his eyes. He knows he won't be able to sleep, but he welcomes the dark.

/

_after_

Liam, Zayn, and Niall want to lock Louis up in their arms, safe and sound, but they know it's cruel to try and keep him in this world when everything he wants is somewhere else. They owe this to him, owe so much more than this to him, this crazy boy with blue eyes and a loud laugh and a weary heart. They can't try to keep him here or ask him to stay.

They will not be so selfish. They owe him the chance for happiness, no matter where it may lead him.

/

_after_

He doesn't belong in this room, he belongs in a plane that's rapidly heading towards the ground, his hand wrapped around his boyfriend's, too in shock to scream. There is probably a certain poignant beauty in death, he reckons.

/

_after_

It comes down to this: Life without Harry is not a life worth living, and it's that simple, really. There's a full bottle of Harry's sleeping pills for when his insomnia flares in the kitchen drawer and a refrigerator full of whiskey, and Louis is set.

He clutches a single page, ripped out of a journal, in his hand, and it's crumbled but the words _Things I Care About_ are visible in big letters at the top of the page, and under that there's only one thing listed, and the words _Harry Styles_ are faded but they have never carried such a weight.

It feels like giving in to the darkness that's chased him for so long, nipped at his ankles until he couldn't help but be drawn into the promise of it's reprieve.

There are much worse lives to have lived, he muses, and as his vision fades there is not a sense of what is being left behind but only a sense of what is to come.

/

_after_

They are not surprised when they find Louis' body. They know before they call the ambulance, they know without the dramatic scene of shaking him violently and screaming his name that would play relentlessly if this were a cheap horror film (maybe it is). They know as soon as they step into the room and see Louis sleeping and his chest remaining still. They don't have to search through his room to find the poorly concealed bottle of pills. They don't have to search for a letter or note or _something_ because everything that's needed to be said has been said through sobs and blood and memories and brotherhood.

Niall blinks and Zayn's hands shake and Liam shakes his head. They don't speak for some immeasurable amount of time, just sit next to him and remember happy memories and try to come to terms with the destruction that has been laid upon their lives.

Niall is the one to call the ambulance when they finally rise, and his voice is rough and scratchy from absence of sleep, among other (much, much darker) things. Zayn and Liam are silent, preparing themselves for a statement that must be written to the press and a letter that must be addressed to the fans.

The paramedics ask the requisite questions, and Liam's voice only shakes slightly as he tells them it's a suicide, and the nerves in stomach only flutter a little when he tells them, "We did all we could, of course."

It's two hours or so before the police and medical responders exit Louis' flat, leaving Niall and Zayn and Liam with a dull throbbing in their hearts and the taste of despair at the back of their mouths.

Before they leave Louis' flat, Niall clears his throat for attention from his spot behind Liam and Zayn, and turns to face them after he finishes locking the door.

Niall nods briskly, once, twice, and he's always had a large mouth and a loud voice but his baby blues speak volumes his voice never could of _This ends, here and now_ and _It's all over_.

They won't lose anyone else. They can't.

/

_after_

(There will be some big fancy funeral with some star singing in his honor and some celebrity telling everyone how amazing he was when they've only met once and some suit-wearing executives frowning over what this means for their wallet as they help themselves to the complementary drinks.

Liam and Zayn and Niall won't go. They'll grieve on their own, just the three of them, and they will steer clear of a funeral where people who didn't even like Louis will pretend to mourn, because it's that kind of blatant lack of authenticity that does Louis' memory a disservice.

They'll be okay, though. They will have gone through most of their grieving period already, when the word alive, applied to Louis, only counted as a technicality.)

/

_after_

The true nature of the relationship between Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson remains a tightly guarded secret, protected by fractured hearts and band mates who can't bear to ever talk about their brothers in the past tense.

Their story never ends. Their love, like all great loves, doesn't bow down to simple notions of time or space. Their love transcends generations and all boundaries.

It was never a goodbye; only a see you later.

/

One Direction was over the minute Harry got into a car crash. One Direction is not a band consisting of five boys, it is a band consisting of one dream; a dream that evaporates immediately and irrevocably with the absence of Harry's dimples or Niall's laugh or Zayn's smirk or Liam's smile or Louis' grin. There is no One Direction without Harry Styles, or Niall Horan, or Zayn Malik, or Liam Payne, or Louis Tomlinson.

/

_after_

Liam, Niall, and Zayn's group therapy sessions usually pass by in a dull haze, but one thing their therapist says makes them think: "Sometimes, loved ones of the deceased try to materialize their lost ones to comfort themselves."

Zayn thinks about this when he's grocery shopping and passes the bananas, an unfortunate fruit that was constantly subjected to Harry's totally lame sexual innuendoes, in the produce isle and feels a prickle on his neck and a tingle down his spine, as if Harry is saying, _Hey, man, remember how funny that was? Good times_. And he thinks that his therapist is a know-it-all prick because he's not imagining anything and just, fuck her. He knows his best friends would never truly leave him, and there's nothing wrong with that.

Liam thinks about this when he goes bicycling with a friend and feels the sudden chill, not unwelcome, in the air. He recalls he and Louis' biking trips as if they were yesterday, and he's pretty sure that Louis does too, wherever he is. He thinks that Louis is probably watching, making sure Louis uses his "super badass mountain bike that cost more than my rent," and he thinks that he is glad for this, for his old friends' constant presence at his side, at their interwoven destinies. He thinks of his therapist and he has the calm assurance that she is wrong and he contemplates how unfulfilling it must be to be a woman of such little faith.

Niall thinks about this when he's playing the drums, feeling the beat thrumming through his body and maybe there is something else there, too. He, Louis, and Harry used to all fool around on the drums sometimes, pretending they were half decent and feeling on top of the world when they nailed the simplest song. He beats upon the drums with the wholehearted conviction that Harry and Louis look upon him now, smiling and proud, and he knows that his therapist is a naive woman, but he knew another really naive person, once, and he loved that person very much, so he can't discredit his therapist for being doubtful.

And so, maybe it's not normal, and none of them would certainly ever speak of it, but they all believe in each other, in Louis and Harry, in their everlasting friendship.

So each time they feel the prickle on the back of their neck or the air suddenly get cold or a tingle down their spine, they smile softly and think, _yeah, we have been missing you too_.

/

Their lives end up as a cautionary tale about the adverse effects of fate.

Louis and Harry are the dust that settles after chaos. They are beautiful and destroyed and broken and any sane person would question how that could be, how such a perfect dichotomy could exist in this world, and they'd be right to question it, because nothing like that can last.

They are blue eyes and green eyes and a shy smile and a loud laugh and they were always too much for this world and that was always their problem.

You can only fight the odds for so long until they stack impossibly high against your dreams and hopes and crush you in their wake.

You play with the cards you are dealt, until the world forces you to fold.

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the awesome AMAAL aka @telouphone on twitter because I totally abandoned this fic until she inspired me to write the last 2k or so and get it done.  
> Sorry if it seems rushed, blah blah blah, I had no beta because no one wants to be my beta, normal post-story author self-depreciation here...  
> Please leave a review if you liked this, I hope to maybe write more for this fandom soon! :)  
> And if you want to catch up with me on twitter I'm @dracopotters . Thanks so much for reading! :-)))


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